


Phantasms in Crystal

by Zodiac



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst, Gen, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Takes place right after the 5.3 trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:48:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zodiac/pseuds/Zodiac
Summary: He failed in his duty, yes, that much was undeniable.And yet, even a failure is not undeserving of salvation, of a sort.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	Phantasms in Crystal

**Author's Note:**

> I hammered this out on patch night on like two hours of sleep because I just had to get the feelings out in a way other than bawling my eyes out because I already did that more than enough during the patch itself.

He failed.

That was the first thought that crossed Elidibus' mind as his gathered essence was drained from him, stolen salvation given form greedily sucked up by the Crystal Tower as surely as if it was a piece of white auracite. Over the centuries it stood, it had served as prison for countless individuals in one form or another… and it seemed as though he was about to join their ranks.

How ironic, that something Emet-Selch had so painstakingly plotted into being proved to be his demise…

Ah, Emet-Selch… Though he may have sounded harsh when recounting the actions of his kinsman to the vaunted hero and his companions, his true feelings towards him were anything but. Emet-Selch's sentimentality that he so callously denounced as his fatal flaw was truly a part of his strength, the feelings that kept him on his path for all the rocky millennia that had passed since the Sundering.

How could his feelings towards him be anything but positive, after all?

It was his yearning for salvation, his sentimentality towards his city and his people that fueled his initial transformation into the heart of Zodiark. His hopes, his prayer, his very _feelings_ towards their city _,_ he took it all into himself… along with those of the rest of the Convocation. Lahabrea's single-minded devotion to duty even at the cost of his own health, Igeyorhm's well-meaning rashness to help those she held dear, Nabriales' boldness, Mitron, Loghrif, Pashtarot, Fandaniel, Altima, Halmarut, Deudalaphon, Emmerololth… All had provided unto him their wishes for salvation, all had mournfully or bitterly given him their blessing in his self-imposed task.

All, that is, except one.

Azem, the deserter, had not been present during those crucial moments before the first primal was summoned, had not been present when Amaurot needed them, _all_ of them, the most.

And yet, even as his aether was drained from him, it abruptly occurred to him that Azem _had_ returned. Millennia late, lighter in both body and soul, they were hardly recognizable as they were now.

But then, there was no denying that determined expression they leveled at him, face etched with as much stony resolve as it had been when they left the Convocation for the final time, resolute that they could find a solution to this calamity that would not require the sacrifice of their dear friends.

Perhaps Emet-Selch had not been mistaken after all…

Not that it really mattered at this point, as the last of his power was siphoned from him, majestic recreation of a hero long gone disintegrating, leaving behind his _true_ form, one he hadn't paid much attention to in perhaps literal ages. Kneeling down, his white robe pooled around himself, warily glancing out from behind his obligatory red mask. Devoid of glamours and a malleable container of flesh, he felt naked, raw aether shivering against the sensation of air, the feeling alien after so long hiding away in one form or another. He felt especially vulnerable with the Warrior of Darkness' gaze upon him, knowing that their awoken gift allowed them to see what lesser abominations could not.

That fragile feeling grew much more readily apparent as the vaunted hero slowly approached them, that steely look still set on their face. Reflexively, he tensed, certain that they would give into the wild, carnal urges he drew out of them with his little test, raise up their weapon and strike down what little remained of him.

But instead of the expected cruelty, they rummaged around in their pockets for a few moments before bending down to place the contents before him. As they clattered noisily against the floor beneath him, he instantly knew the crystals for what they were; the ones that were given to newly-ascended members of the Convocation so that they may draw upon the memories and experience of their forebears to better serve the people, the precursor to what the incomplete mortals refer to as "soul crystals". With a variety of colors and constellations etched into their surfaces, he could recognize all thirteen of the ones offered to him… including the colorless one that he himself had held so very long ago.

"This…" When he spoke, he couldn't recognize his own hushed, raspy voice, unaltered by intimidating tricks or the vocal chords of a host body.

With shaking hands, he reached out to scoop up the precious crystals of his fallen brethren, breaths turning harsher and more ragged as he drew them closer to himself until Elidibus was openly sobbing, not caring if the Warrior of Darkness saw the tears fall from his face as he clutched the Convocation's memories, their wishes, their _hopes_. "Yes… I would become Him. I would save everyone. This I believed. Yet still they cried out, in rage and despair… Divided—over the fate of the star. A rare occurrence, always fleeting. But not this time. Not this time… Reconciliation. Elidibus. I was needed. I withdrew myself from Zodiark. For them… My people. My brothers. ...My friends."

"Oh come now, I thought _I_ was supposed to be the sentimental one here."

That teasing _voice_ , so familiar after having to listen to it for so very many years, ripped at fresh wounds that were beginning to fester, unable to heal while grief and rage were still oozing forth from them. Jerking his head up, his breath caught in his throat as his own hopes were proven true.

Before him, towering well over the Warrior of Darkness, was Emet-Selch, similarly bereft of a mortal shell like himself, white hair peeking out from his hood and a gentle smile set beneath his signature red and white mask. Behind him were twelve other figures akin to him, their identities discernible by the varying designs of their masks and all the little quirks he had picked up on over the years that set them apart no matter how similar their garb was: the cocky, self-assured edge to Nabriales' smile, the arched curve to Igeyorhm's lips, the way that Lahabrea could never _quite_ get his hair to remain in the confines of his hood… all those things and so many other, tiny ones that he didn't even have to consciously look for at this point.

But, even with this tearful reunion, he was hesitant after what had just transpired.

"...Why." A demand, not a question, his gaze firmly focused on Emet-Selch so as to make it clear just _what_ was being demanded. Judging by the way the vaunted hero followed his gaze and merely raised an eyebrow, they couldn't see the apparitions he could.

It was likely for the best.

Arms lift in an exaggerated shrug, the Architect as animated as ever. "If I could barely handle the burden of our civilization's hopes and dreams with you and Lahabrea at my side, then I would not wish for you to handle that sacrifice solely by yourself. You, of all people, have certainly had your fill of sacrifice, I might think.”

A shaky, ragged breath out, eyelids slowly fluttering shut before reopening. “...You would be correct.” His head tilted upwards ever-so slightly, looking up beyond his friends’ towering heads to the wide expanse of ceruleum sky above. “The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with another beautiful day.”

“And we are all here to see it. Together. Now," Emet-Selch knelt on one knee to better be on Elidibus' level, outstretching a hand to him. "we are waiting for you, my friend. All of us." Despite everything, a smirk tugged at the corners of his smile. "That is, if you would be willing to put up with us after having done so for centuries upon centuries already."

Elidibus didn't even have to consider it.

"Y-yes… I would not choose any other fate." With that said, he reached his hands, still holding the crystals, out to Emet-Selch's. As soon as his fingers brushed the Architect's, he grasped them, folding his hands together to cradle the crystals protectively as he gently coaxed him upwards. As he rose, traces of what little aether he had left beginning to spiral off his form, hands of the other Convocation members reached out, steadying him with firm, gentle touches. When he finally stood, he took a shaky, unsteady step towards his friends, towards his own, personal salvation, and before he fully unraveled, before his aether swirled into the Lifestream to mingle with that of his comrades', Emet-Selch spoke up one, final time.

"The day may be beautiful, but I believe I am finally going to teach you just how nice a good, solid rest can be."

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this and wanted to screech at me in a manner similar to socializing, then you can find my Twitter right [here](https://twitter.com/HippestGlitch).


End file.
